


A Risk Worth Taking

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, M/M, Poet!Marco, Scientist!Jean, science puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: Jean has forgotten that he cares about stars. For the JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2017!





	A Risk Worth Taking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocolatefudge16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatefudge16/gifts).



> Happy holidays, chocolatefudgefreckles! I hope you enjoy this little fic... it's been a while since I've written jeanmarco, but it was really fun to do. :'D
> 
> Prompt: "Poetic Marco goes to Hawaii where he meets photographer and scientist Jean Kirschtein a old friend and they both inspire each other to create new projects and they get together to be happy and which they became a powerful duo!"

Jean never expected Hawaii to be anything more than just another place his research grant sent him, a tourist destination that was meant for honeymooners and family vacations.

And on one unassuming afternoon, he definitely wasn’t expecting to encounter a piece of his past in the touristy bar he frequented. Every Saturday, he’d stop by on his way back from excursions up and down the trails of Mauna Loa to have a drink. He’d had enough training in mountaineering to know how to take care of himself with a pup tent and a few days journey, though not much more than that. Jean, at his core, is really a city boy.

Most of the locals know him by now. He’d bemuse the bartender by ordering the frilliest umbrella drink he could, and then take a picture of it with his phone.

The truth is, regardless that from some distant point of view Jean registers that Hawaii is host to some of the world’s most natural beauty, he spends a lot of time sending pictures of tropical fruit drinks to his mother. It delights her to no end; she’s also the one person he talks to on a regular basis.

That is, until he’s sitting at the bar one afternoon, sipping on a pina colada, when he spots someone familiar.

There’s a boy—no, a man really, though he does look boyish—with freckles and dark eyes that Jean can’t quite place for a moment. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling at the bartender brightly, “do you have any tea?”

“Sure,” the bartender replies with a small shrug. It’s a family friendly establishment after all, not like the rowdy places Jean used to frequent as an undergrad in Trost.

Jean realizes he’s staring as a pair of dark brown eyes are suddenly trained on him, and they both just look at each other.

“Marco.” The name comes unbidden to his lips, and Jean’s eyes widen. 

_Marco Bodt_. A hotel room a few years back during a summit about the intersection of the sciences and art, where Jean had been a speaker; a mess of rumpled sheets in the morning, and awkward goodbye.

Either way, he’s still cute.

“Jean Kirschstein?” Marco replies in surprise, obviously remembering Jean’s name, too. “What are you doing here?” he asks, and then laughs at his own question in embarrassment. “I mean… well, obviously you’re here for a reason.” They just stare at each other, but Marco’s face brightens. “It’s good to see you!” It’s polite but cordial; memories of his personality are fast returning 

“Uh,” Jean replies awkwardly, sliding down the bar to settle on a stool near where Marco is standing, “hey. What’s up? Long time, no see. I’m here on a research grant.”

“Oh, wow, that’s awesome!” Marco says enthusiastically as he accepts a menu from the bartender, glancing over the tea selection. “What for?”

“Mauna Loa,” Jean offers, sipping his fruity drink and suddenly feeling mildly embarrassed. “Just taking some rock and soil samples from different points. A bunch of other scientific mumbo-jumbo you’re probably not interested in.” He shrugs. “It’s a nice place, but I’ve only got about a week left here.”

He pauses for a few beats of silence as Marco turns to order peppermint tea from the menu, and then focuses his attention back on Jean.

“Why are _you_ here?” Jean asks curiously. 

“Just to see Hawaii, trying to find things to inspire my poetry,” Marco smiles with a shrug. “Nothing official like grant-funded research.” He chuckles a little, and then eyes Jean hopefully. “Do you know if there’s any hiking trails or places to go that aren’t touristy?”

Now, the truth is that Jean knows plenty of places just like that. In fact, at this point, he could probably get a job as a guide for tourists visiting the huge range of the volcano and all its corners.

But does he really want Marco Bodt tagging along? A one night stand from a few years ago he has a vague recollection of who just showed up out of the blue, literally waxing poetic, and will probably have to make awkward small talk with?

“Jean?” Marco asks, interrupting Jean’s thoughts. “I’d really like to see something beautiful. Do you know anywhere like that?”

“I know most of the trails,” Jean blurts out. “Although I wouldn’t know ‘beautiful’ if it hit me over the head like a chunk of tholeiitic basalt.”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then Marco bursts out laughing.

It’s warm and bubbly, and it eases up something that’s been wound tight in Jean’s chest. Weirdly familiar, but also foreign since he hasn’t had a friendly conversation with someone his own age in a while who could handle his awkward, blunt one liners.

“Sounds good,” Marco agrees, extending his hand for Jean to shake. “Besides, I don’t like traveling alone.”

And this is how Jean Kirschstein makes plans for the next day to hike up the side of a volcano with an old one night stand.

* 

Being on the trail with another person is more interruptive than Jean’s first expecting.

He’s grown accustomed to the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind, the temperate weather, the faint noises of occasional animals in the underbrush. It’s not even that he notices these things, so much as the fact that they’ve all blended together to become a familiar background hum.

But Marco wants to stop to look at everything, asking Jean what a particular type of flower is, what kind of rock they’re treading over, if the trees stay like this all year round.

It makes everything take twice as long, but for some reason, Jean doesn’t actually mind. He’s at least grateful that Marco can keep up. Even though their one night stand was at least three years ago now, he notices how fit Marco still is.

His forearm is strong, flexing as as he grabs a tree to steady himself at an uneven part of the path, and Jean glances away so he’s not leering.

“So,” Jean starts as they pick their way along the trail, “why Hawaii?”

Marco looks up in surprise, his eyebrows raising. “Well,” he offers, “I heard it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world.” He shrugs. “I always wanted to come, and since that conference where we met…” He trails off, clearing his throat as a touch of color tinges his cheeks. “Well, actually, your lecture about the intersections between science and art had a big impact on me. Hawaii seemed like the best of both worlds, since so many people come here to research.”

Jean waits a few beats, hoping this conversation won’t verge into wildly awkward territory, but then Marco saves it. “How’s your photography going?”

“Oh,” Jean replies in surprise, turning his head to look at Marco, “uh, it’s not.”

“Really?” Marco replies, sounding surprised.

Jean remembers that part of their last meeting, too. Sitting in a bar, rambling with a few gin and tonics in him to the intriguing young writer he’d met about how he liked to take documentary pictures, but never thought about the artistry behind them until recently.

Truth is, Jean has liked photography since high school, at least as a hobby; but between flying to various sites around the world, writing research grant applications, and his time in a lab, he hasn’t thought much about it.

“No,” he replies simply. “I don’t have time, and I’m not an artist.”

“I’m not an artist,” Marco replies cheerfully, “I just observe things when I can, then write about them.”

Before Jean can express is annoyance at Marco’s flippant optimism, he exclaims, “Oh, hey, we’re almost at the base of the volcano!” And with that, he takes off into a full tilt sprint, leaving Jean in the dust to stare at his receding back.

“C’mon, Jean!” he shouts over his shoulder with a smile. “We’re so close to where the rocks start.”

Jean rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile a little. “Marco, wait... we need to pitch camp first.”

He turns quickly, and then just grins excitedly. “I’ve never seen a volcano up close.”

“First things first,” Jean instructs. “We need to make camp before we hit that part.”

“Hey, look,” he says suddenly, stopping to point up at the sky as Jean finally reaches him and drops his pack on the ground, “the sky.”

“What about it?” Jean asks, tilting his head curiously and following where Marco’s finger is pointing.

“The clouds look like…”

“A rabbit,” Jean blurts out before thinks. He immediately cringes at his silly observation, laughing self-consciously, until he hears scribbling.

Marco has a small notebook he’s pulled out, and he’s writing onto a page with a small pencil, quick strokes like he’s making bullet points.

“Are you…” Jean swallows hard. “Are you writing a _poem_?”

“Oh, sorry!” Marco replies cheerfully. “No, I’m just taking notes.’

“Notes?”

“About this experience.”

“Me seeing a bunny in clouds is an experience?” Jean asks skeptically. In a wild flight of fancy, he suddenly wonders if Marco is making notes to tell tales to any colleagues they might share about his bizarre hike to a volcano with renowned loner Dr. Jean Kirschstein and his cloud formation sightings.

“No,” Marco replies patiently, letting his pack drop on the ground next to Jean’s companionably. “Just us here, walking, talking, looking at clouds. Also, some flowers I saw.”

“That’s how you write poems?” Jean asks, mildly mystified.

“Sort of,” Marco shrugs. “Anyway, if we’re going to pitch camp, we should probably do it now.”

“You know, when the stars come out here, they’re really bright,” Jean offers abruptly. “It’s something to see.”

He hasn’t told someone about ‘something to see’ since the last time he texted his mother a frilly cocktail.

“That sounds great, Jean,” Marco replies with a warm smile. 

*

Pitching camp is surprisingly easy, given that Marco has apparently not only earned a creative writing degree, but also so many boy scout badges that Jean barely needs to lift a finger to help.

Instead, he prepares the fire while Marco sets up the tents.

Nightfall comes quickly, and they settle themselves in front of the fire. The collapsible camp chair suddenly seems very inviting as Jean relaxes into it, pulling out the flask that lives inside his jacket pocket to take a sip.

He grins conspiratorially at Marco, offering the flask; it’s accepted with an amused expression, and Marco takes a few swallows, his throat bobbing with the motion.

“So,” he says companionably, handing the silver flask back to Jean, “you come up here all the time alone?”

“At least a few times per week,” Jean replies with a nod. “The rest of the time, I’m usually answering emails or writing reports.”

“Sounds busy,” Marco replies. “Apart from the emails, hiking up volcanos sounds pretty dangerous.”

After a moment, Marco pulls out his notebook and scratches down a few words. “Hope you don’t mind…” he asks, trailing off.

“Sure,” Jean replies with a shrug, taking another sip from the flask before tucking it back into his jacket pocket. For a minute, there’s only the sound of Marco’s pencil scratching and the crackle of the flames, until Jean speaks suddenly. “You know,” he says, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, “I never really wanted to anything risky as a job.”

Marco laughs, face illuminated by the flames and a little ruddy from the flask, and closes his leather travel journal. He tucks the pencil behind his ear and the notebook away into his pocket.

“Why’d you become a scientist, then?” he asks, clearly amused by this contradictory life path. “Especially one who specializes in volcanic activity.”

Jean leans back, staring up into the sky. Hawaii is unusually temperate, and the sky is almost always visible; sometimes, it’s easy to forget that he’s on an island because the forest is so dense.

“It seemed easy.” He shrugs. “Sounds stupid now, but when I was seventeen and applying to college, science is what I was good at.” 

Marco hums in acknowledgement. “You seem like you’d be smart, but cool,” he admits, his voice self-conscious enough that Jean looks at him.

“Cool?”

“Yeah,” Marco says, smiling a little. “Not nerdy, but confident.”

“Oh!” Jean exclaims, throwing his hands up. “Well, I was good at that, too—pretending to be sure of myself.”

There’s a short silence, and Marco just smiles a little, his face neutral as he looks into the fire. Jean hesitates, clearing his throat as he pulls out the flask again to take a restless sip. He offers it to Marco, but a shake of his head signaling he’s done drinking. 

“Hey,” Marco says suddenly, “want to know something really stupid?” His tone is silly and he sounds a little tipsy.

“Sure,” Jean offers easily. “I doubt that anything you’d say would be stupid, though.”

“Well, first of all,” Marco asks, “why did you come here to Hawaii specifically?”

“I told you,” Jean offers, “with the help of a research grant. I still can’t believe I saw you in the bar.” He shrugs a little.

“But why here?” Marco insists. “Isn’t there somewhere else you want to go?”

“I guess,” Jean replies, frowning a little in thought. He hasn’t thought about where he actually wants to go in a long time.

“I came here to write.” Marco’s brow furrows a bit, and he looks back into the fire. “But I think… I’ve lost my way.”

“How so?” Jean asks, turning to retrieve another log to throw onto the fire. He’s suddenly glad they pitched their tents first thing they got to this clearing before continuing their hike up the volcano the next day.

“I wrote my best stuff in high school,” Marco admits, raising his eyes to meet Jean’s who settles back in his seat. “Sounds crazy, right?” He gives a wry laugh, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “But I think I was more honest back then, when I was sixteen.” 

“Really?” Jean asks in surprise, looking down to poke at the fire with a stick. “I feel like I was the least honest at that age.” He shrugs. “I’m more honest now, but I’m not sure if I’m actually more honest, or just tired.”

They both watch the fire crackle, and Marco looks up. “But all those things you said at the conference…” he asks, trailing off quietly. “Didn’t you mean them? About how art and science can’t be separated?”

Jean sighs, cradling his head in his hands and looking up at the sky. “I did back then, but I thought more was possible.”

“What about the sky?” Marco’s voice is quiet, staring into the fire.

“The sky?”

“You said the stars are really beautiful.” Marco gives a tentative little smile, the light of the fire playing over his face. “What constellations are out right now?”

“Well,” Jean starts, clearing his throat as he squints to try and recognize some of the star formations, “I think I see Cassiopeia…”

He hears scribbling in Marco’s book, but this time, he just keeps talking.

“And there’s Ursa Minor,” he continues, pointing up and craning his head back to really study the night sky. “It’s called Little Bear, but there are a bunch of other meanings behind it.” He shrugs. “They’re stars. They’re literally unfixed.”

“That’s very scientific, but also poetic,” Marco replies, grinning up at Jean before he focuses back on his notebook. “‘Literally unfixed.’ Can I steal that line?”

“I want royalties,” Jean deadpans, studying Marco’s face. He’s frowning slightly now, biting his lip as he scribbles quickly into his book with his pencil, then flips a page to write a few more things.

“Done,” he replies without looking up. Jean snorts.

“Let’s bunk down. It’s getting late,” he says with a yawn, moving to prepare for bed and deal with the fire. “If you want to see part of the volcano and rock tomorrow, we need to get some rest.”

“Good idea,” Marco replies, grinning sleepily at Jean. His eyes are soft, most likely from the alcohol, and for one fleeting moment—both terrifying and harrowing at the same time—Jean thinks he’s going to ask to share a tent.

Instead, he says, “Thanks for showing me the constellations.”

Jean grunts and shrugs, offering a cordial nod.

He figures the imagery of star constellations as freckles has not been lost on Marco, has probably been the subject of a million pick-up lines; but somehow, the idea suddenly seems new. The way stars seem new seeing it through a writer’s eyes, someone who looks at the world as experiences to be recorded—as _art_ —and not just a consistent din in the background.

They bunk down for the night in separate tents, and suddenly, Jean wishes his stay overlapped with Marco’s for more than a week.

*

The march up the rest of the trail the next morning isn’t particularly challenging, and Jean knows every twist and turn.

Yet he finds himself paying attention to details he never did before: the shape of tree trunks, the way the ground starts to become harder, the texture of dirt and rock. These are all things he knows intimately, and yet, it feels like he’s never seen them before.

And he also notices Marco’s forearms still, and how he moves—excited to be here, eager to see the things he hasn’t seen. His enthusiasm is infectious, just like it was those years ago when they first connected, even if it was in a different way.

“Hey!” Marco says as he bends down to look closely at the rock beneath their feet.

The entire landscape is rock now, not a single tree or sign of vegetation in sight. Marco drops to his knees and runs his hand over the texture, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Then, he stands up, brushing off his jeans, and grins over at Jean.

“This is awesome,” he says. “Thanks for bringing me up here.”

“We’re not even close to the top,” Jean says, “but this is worth seeing.”

Is it worth seeing? It’s not something he ever really thought of, but now that he’s sharing it with someone else, it suddenly seems like the most miraculous view on earth.

“So, this volcano could erupt at any time?” Marco asks suddenly.

“Last time was 1984,” Jean offers. “That’s what my research grant is for—to take samples and analyze them to help predict when it might erupt again.”

“But you said you don’t like taking risks,” Marco replies simply, raising an eyebrow.

Jean shrugs, but Marco’s words hit home.

“Maybe I didn’t even know I was taking one,” he says simply. “I’ve done a lot of things without knowing it was a risk, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Marco replies softly, his voice bittersweet.

“Aren’t you going to write anything down?”

“Uh,” Marco hums, his mouth tightening, “I really don’t know what to write.”

For a moment, Jean studies him, looks at the pocket he now know Marco keeps his small writing journal, glances back out toward the unearthly landscape of rock in front of them, and makes a decision.

“Let me sketch it for you.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a camera,” Jean offers, holding out his hand, “but I like sketching.” He clears his throat awkwardly, but stays in the same pose. “I like art. I just forgot.”

“Okay,” Marco agrees, his voice curiously reverent for some reason.

The sketch Jean makes while crouched haphazardly on the ground, paper balanced on his knees with Marco’s worn down stub of a pencil, is mediocre at best. But when he’s done, Marco seems absolutely delighted, looking back and forth between Jean and the drawing.

“Thank you so much,” he says, his freckles bunching up slightly as he smiles. “This is… exactly what I came for.”

“Maybe this is what I came for, too,” Jean blurts out, and then claps his mouth shut as they both blush slightly.

They spend some more time looking around, studying the cracks in the rock, Jean showing Marco what and why everything in front of them is the way it is.

Their descent down the trail is companionable and pleasant—Marco scribbles some more notes, and Jean even draws a few plants—but it only leads to what he’s dreading, which is the end of this unexpected excursion.

A chance meeting with a former one night stand and colleague is the first thing that’s made Jean feel alive in a long time.

*

They don’t see each other for most of the week after that. Marco keeps himself busy by trekking along other trails and even going on a tourist excursion, and Jean has plenty of work to keep him busy.

But they do meet for a frilly umbrella drink in the same bar they first ran into each other the night before Jean is set to leave.

“So,” Marco says, balancing on the stool in the same place they first met, “this is it.”

“Guess so,” Jean shrugs, sipping at his pina colada. Marco had abstained and gotten a beer; he hadn’t questioned the snapped picture and text to Jean’s mother. “It’s gone fast.”

They drink in silence. There’s music wafting in from the outside open-air terrace that’s being played for tourists, the weather is clear, and the night sky is visible.

“Hawaii is weird,” Marco says suddenly, settling onto his stool more heavily and taking a long sip of his beer. “That’s my conclusion as a writer.”

“Weird?” Jean asks in surprise, turning his head to meet those dark eyes.

“It’s sort of… transient,” Marco muses, raising an eyebrow. “Like you never really get to hold onto anything.”

“That’s not true,” Jean replies immediately, his voice more intense than he means it to be. “You have words, and sketches, and lots of experiences you recorded.”

Marco shrugs and lets the topic drop with a sort of lethal cordiality; though he looks thoughtful now, maybe even conflicted for some unknown reason.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Research, a lab. Probably back in Trost.”

“Oh.”

They both just sit there. Marco sips his beer, and Jean drinks his frilly umbrella drink slowly. He doesn’t want to leave.

Marco shifts restlessly a few times, starting to tear off the label on his bottle.

“I haven’t been able to finish a poem in two years,” he says suddenly. His voice is soft, his face downcast. “All I do is write fragments, and they never amount to anything. I thought coming here would help.”

“Did it?” Jean asks, knowing the feeling all too well. While he certainly finishes research treks and analyses, there’s been a distinct feel of incompleteness for years now; the way a person doesn’t notice what stars are out even when constellations are at their most majestic.

“No.”

Jean exhales silently; somehow, he was hoping for a different answer.

“ _You_ did.”

Jean’s eyes widen as he straightens, turning to look at Marco in surprise. “Huh?”

“You inspired me,” Marco replies, his smile soft but a little nervous. “That hike, the talking, your drawings…” He tilts his head to the side endearingly, the freckles smattered across his nose more pronounced than usual, probably from being out in the sun. He looks very boyish, but the intelligence shining in his eyes is what Jean remembers first drew them together, what Jean had first found so attractive when they first met. “I finished a poem—the first one in years.”

“What’s it about?” Jean asks uncertainly.

Marco laughs a little and grins. “It’s called ‘Literally Unfixed.’”

There are a few beats of silence, music, the wind; Jean takes a long sip of his pina colada and finishes the drink without hesitation.

“You know?” he asks, pushing his glass forward and motioning for another. “I’m thinking about extending my stay. Any places you think I should know about?”

“Yeah,” Marco replies, turning to face Jean fully now, a smile obscuring any set of known constellations Jean might see in those freckles. “I found some great places for sketching. We should go, if you want.”

Jean nods.

Hawaii is beautiful this time of year.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for my terribly woeful lack of knowledge about science, volcanoes, or Hawaii! I did do research, but if anything is off, please feel free to let me know. Thank you for reading!


End file.
